


Where You Can Find It

by droid_girl



Series: Roads Untravelled [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/droid_girl/pseuds/droid_girl
Summary: Continuation of "Guard the Pounding Sound"/based on the ridiculous AU I accidentally wrote.In the cold North, Sansa has the unenviable mission of relaying news of Tommen's death to Jaime, while trying to manage a newly united North.Features emotionally constipated Jon.





	Where You Can Find It

**Author's Note:**

> Ergh. I can't believe I'm still writing this.  
> And I think I might end up writing way more for this AU.

***

_”In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm, Come in, she said, I’ll give ya shelter from the storm” Bob Dylan_

***

She smoothed the rolled parchment out over the heavy desk, and read the words elegantly scripted on it, for what felt like the hundredth time.

_Cersei of House Lannister, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals…_

Sitting back in her ornately carved chair, Sansa stared at the driving snow outside the latticed windows of her solar. The rest of the note contained Cersei’s predictable dose of bile and threats, but that wasn’t what truly concerned her.

If Cersei was now proclaiming herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, that could only mean that King Tommen was no more. To say nothing of the fate of Queen Margaery. Sansa still bore fond memories of the girl from Highgarden, with her endless charm and sweet smiles…no matter that she had used both as her own form of weaponry.

Burying her face in her hands, the Queen in the North took a deep, shuddering breath, her thoughts turning to one man in particular.

Jaime.

She knew - of course she knew - that the ramifications affected far more than her selfish allegiances. With Cersei in full control of the Iron Throne, the chances of open warfare had increased exponentially. Jaime’s sister did not forget, nor did she forgive those whom she imagined conspired against her family. Circumstances as they were, it might have been better if indeed, Sansa had been the one to murder Joffrey. As it was, war with the South was likely to be triggered over nothing more than flimsy spite.

“I take it you haven’t told him.” Jon said from the doorway. 

“I can’t…I don’t know how.” she motioned for him to shut the door as he entered. “He continues to mourn Myrcella even now, despite his best efforts to hide it.”

“Maybe I could…” Jon looked distinctly uncomfortable as he settled opposite her. “Perhaps I could find him and we could…”

“Have a man-to-man talk about love, loss and death?” Sansa snorted. She tried to picture her brother having a conversation about something that wasn’t related to White Walkers, or military strategy, and managed only to pull up a vision of Jon staring blankly whilst gesticulating wildly. 

“When you put it like that…” Jon winced. His eyes turned serious as he gave voice to a question she knew he had been wanting to ask, but had been afraid to. “You love him don’t you?”

“I…” Sansa blinked. There was no sense in hiding it, she decided. “Yes. I love him. But what of it?”

“I see the way he looks at you. Like you’re the last bright hope in the entire world.” Jon’s dark eyes drifted away, filled with an abiding sadness. Sansa wondered what it was he saw in the blank spaces every time he looked to figures unseen. Tormund had mentioned very briefly and drunkenly one night, of a Wildling niece who had been ‘kissed by fire’. Then the big man had broken down in loud tears, and there was nothing to be gained from him after. It was Brienne who had shoved the man ungently towards his own quarters, leaving a stricken Jon behind, and an awkward Jaime clapping him on his shoulder as if that gesture would somehow remove the sting.

There were other things she saw in her brother’s eyes sometimes that scared her; darker shadows that flickered in a way that made her skin crawl. When she asked Davos of the exact circumstances that had caused Jon to walk away from the Night’s Watch, the knight said nothing, leaving her standing in the middle of her own hall, questions unanswered. She knew never ask again.

“There was another message.” Sansa shook her head. “This one was sent from - of all people - my former Lord Husband. He seeks for the Dragon Queen and I to meet. I suppose its another thinly veiled command to ‘bend the knee’. Apparently, he’s now her appointed Hand…”

“All these Queens,” Jon laughed shortly. “And they all sing the same tune.”

“Speaking of ‘Hand’…” 

Her brother groaned aloud. “Do we need to speak on this right now?”

“It only makes sense. As Hand, and you would have free run of the Kingdom. I can’t be everything to everyone all of the time…” Sansa found herself wheedling. It had always worked with Robb, and as a rule, what worked with Robb worked with Jon. 

“My place isn’t to settle the disputes between spoiled noblemen, or to play at being your ambassador.” his voice turned hard, proving once again that he was not the the brother she remembered. Not truly. “My place is to guard the borders between the living and the dead.” 

Jaime was clever when it came to stratagems and warfare, and what it took to literally cripple an enemy force. But to win hearts and minds…he was far more likely to win foes. On top of being an outsider, his penchant to speak his mind - something she appreciated greatly - was also what irked most of the Lords and Ladies of the North, most of whom preferred stoic silence. 

There was no one else she could possibly turn to, to assist her in the running of a kingdom. No one she could truly trust.

With her mind back on Jaime, Sansa sighed. “Do you know where our Lord Commander is?” 

“I saw him conferring with Brienne down in the training yard.” Jon paused. “And by conferring, I mean…”

“They’re beating each other bloody. Of course.” she shook her head. 

“Sansa, you can’t hide in here forever.” Jon stood up. “If you love him, you will tell him before wagging tongues break the news to him. There’s more you should know, of what the men are saying…the news from the South is worse than simply the crowning of Jaime’s sister…”

With every word that followed, tremors of unease prickled down her spine in a never-ending stream. 

***

She found him eventually in the Godswood under the Heart Tree, polishing Oathkeeper with an oiled cloth. The red cloak she had gifted him was as a splash of blood against the driven snow.

The Queen did not know this, but as she slowly approached Jaime, she was mirroring the steps of her own Mother, replaying a scene that had taken place years ago, shortly before Robert Baratheon had ridden up to the gates of Winterfell to disrupt all their lives forevermore.

“Your Grace,” he looked up at her, green eyes blinking lazily. “Did you have need of me?”

“Always.” she forced herself to smile. “I’m glad to see the Lady Brienne left you whole,”

“Aye. Though you’ll find me a little more bruised that I was this morning.” Laying his sword against the Weirwood, he unfolded his body and met her halfway. 

His hair wanted trimming, Sansa thought idly as she swept her fingers across his forehead. Gently, she wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed her lips softly against his. His own arms wrapped around her, left hand pressing against the small of her back possessively. As was always true when he held her, she felt a spark deep in her belly, as her body recalled other intimate moments when he had held her far closer. 

Sansa wanted to hold on to this moment for as long as she possibly could. She knew that the moment their embrace was ended, reality would re-assert itself in all its brutal form. Sweetness would fade to mourning, and have they all not had their fair share by now?

In her mind, she could still hear Brienne’s words to her on that wintry morning as they had ridden away from Castle Black so many week’s ago. The Maid of Tarth, who carried herself like a man, but who had also seen what was brewing between herself and Jaime, had sought to ease his way further. 

_He was named Kingslayer and reviled as an Oathbreaker, when truly, he should have been honoured for the thousands of lives he saved with that one stroke._

If the rumours that Jon had relayed to her were true - rumours of a city that was half destroyed by wildfire, with hundreds of men and women reduced to grey ash - then surely, the Gods were crueller than she already thought them to be. No, she had not the heart to tell Jaime of these reports. The irony would be too much for him to bear.

As their kiss ended, Sansa stroked his cheek affectionately, and stepped away when he would have tugged her back.

“Sansa?” his eyes narrowed, finally noticing her discomfiture. His entire body tensed, as if bracing for a fight. “What is it?”

Unable to bring herself to speak, Sansa reached into the folds of her dress, and drew out the much-read parchment. Silently, she held it out to Jaime, who looked at her quizzically before taking it to peruse the contents within for himself.

“This is…” he started. She could see in the way the lines in his face hardened, the moment when he fully understood.

“Jaime…I’m sorry…I’m so very sorry.” she said, finding her voice at last. When his eyes found hers once again, she knew he wasn’t gazing upon her, but down an endless dark abyss she could not pull him back from just then.

Abandoning both his sword and his Queen, Jaime left the Godswood, footsteps silenced by the snow which carpeted the ground beneath their feet.

***

Oathkeeper always surprised her with its very weight. Bearing the sword carefully in her hands, she slowly made her way to the Lord Commander’s own chambers, placed only one door apart from her own. Servants looked at their Lady askance as she walked past them bearing the massive weapon, but she dismissed each with a distracted smile.

When first Jon had been given to understand where Jaime was to be situated permanently, her brother had given her one of his mutinous looks, which she was only now learning to ignore. She supposed she could have taken the time to explain to him that the eldest son of House Lannister spent most every night in her bed, but then, she thought it wiser to spare the delicate sensibilities of the menfolk.

Knocking on Jaime’s door, Sansa received no response. Hesitating, her hands pushed on the door gently, and stepped through.

Jaime sat in front of the fire with his left fist cradled in the crook of his right arm. His knuckles were bleeding copiously. 

“Gods be good, Jaime what have you done?” Sansa exclaimed as she closed the heavy wooden door, setting the sword carefully against the wall. “I’ll get the maester.”

“No…don’t…” Jaime looked a little embarrassed. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“At least let me clean those wounds.” she hurried to his side.

“I’m afraid I might have lost the battle with the walls of this castle,” he said drily, letting her lift his swollen knuckles. Satisfied that he had indeed only broken through skin, Sansa would have left to summon for help, when he grasped at her wrist tightly. 

“Stay.” he said, his eyes blank in a way that she had seen only once before.

“I’m so sorry.” she said, her voice softening as she settled beside him at his feet. She _was_ in fact, sorry. For all the unkindness that had been meted to her in King’s Landing, sweet little Tommen had always been as a ray of sunshine to her dark days. How often had she compared him to Rickon or Bran? How often had she longed to coddle the little boy who was fonder of songs than of swordplay? For him to lie dead and cold was yet another injustice in a world gone mad.

“I keep wondering…if I’d never left, could I have stopped it? Could I have saved them?” Jaime asked, green eyes riveted on the flames a few feet away. 

Sansa remained silent. 

There may have been a time when she would have thought that a man’s place was by his family’s; his sole duty to his children. But that time was long past, and Jaime had done too much for her to imagine a life where he was not here, by her side. More than that…she was far too selfish to imagine what lay at the end of paths not taken by the man seated before her.

If that made her a monster, then so be it.

“I assume you’re not travelling to King’s Landing to answer the Queen’s summons.” Jaime stated, blinking his eyes as if gathering himself. His fingers were still on her wrist, and now they stroked her skin gently, idly.

“I don’t suppose I’d ever see the light of day again, once I set foot in the Red Keep.” Sansa said without an iota of humour.

“No. But you’d live a long life.” Jaime’s brow creased, and she knew he was imagining the horrors his sister meant to visit on her body. “No Sansa, you will stay right here.”

He lifted her so that she sat on his lap, with barely enough space for a breath between their faces. The dripping blood on his hand, she knew, was staining parts of her clothing and some of her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She lifted her own hand and cupped his cheek.

Later, he would allow for his blood to be wiped away. He would hiss in discomfort even as she stroked his brow and chided him for his foolishness.

Later, when they lay in bed, and when he finally allowed himself to weep silently, she would hold on to him, soothing him the way she had wished someone had soothed her, all the times she had lain weeping alone in another castle far down south. 

After they made love, after she had given him all the comfort she could find within herself to give, she would murmur again into his skin all that was in her heart, and she would hear his whispered pledges, meant only for her ears. 

Right then however, with his blood staining her skin, the world narrowed only to the two of them as they held on to each other, against the ever rising tide of grief.


End file.
